Scarlett Love (The Scarletts by Brenda Barrett

Author:Brenda Barrett
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: multicultural romance, african american romance, jamaican romance, african american romance series, religious and inspirational romance, contemporary christian roomance, rich girl poor guy, sea side romance, treasure beach jamaica romance
Publisher: Brenda Barrett

*****

Amoy had to admit that she was pleasantly surprised by Cassandra's Place. It was a beehive of activity but it had a sit-down section, which was clean, and a friendly wait-staff who were polite. She glanced at the menu board doubtfully. They named their dishes from Jamaican sports stars.

There was the Curry Gayle, named after cricketer Chris Gayle, and then there was the Bolt Stew from track star Usain Bolt.

She found it funny.

Slater explained what they had in them. Somebody had forgotten to write what was actually included in the quirkily-named dishes.

"You come here often?" she asked, grinning at him.

"Very often," he said solemnly. "Lydia was right; it is a poor man's joint but the food is highly recommended. I can't believe that you don't know about it."

"Most times I pack a lunch from home. My helper, Kathleen, is a very good cook. She knows what I want. And when I do eat out it is usually at meetings, high-end hotels and boardrooms."

Slater nodded. "I get it. So this should be a new experience."

"It should." Amoy grinned. "And I am happy to be here with you. Yesterday I realized that I don't know where you live."

"I live in Beverley Hills," he offered as they took their seats.

Amoy grinned. "Be serious."

"I am serious." Slater waited for the waiter to serve their bread and water before he continued. "I live in the pool house of a mansion. I keep the yard clean and in exchange I live there for free. The lady I live with goes to Edwin's church."

"Ah," Amoy nodded. "Edwin, your father figure."

"And occasional savior. You are happy that I don't live in the ghetto, aren't you?" Slater said solemnly.

"No, I would have loved to see what that is like," Amoy said with a serious expression.

Slater laughed. "Yeah, right, you speak like a person of privilege. Nobody wants to see the slums. It is the worst representation of what it is to live like human beings."

"What was it like?" Amoy asked, "You said that you spent your childhood in one, didn't you?"

"Yes." Slater grimaced. "You really want to hear about that?"

"Sure." Amoy sipped her soup and gave a surprised nod. "One point for the broth."

"Yes. Wait until you taste the stew." Slater tasted his and nodded. "My first memory of the ghetto was when I was three or four. There were a lot of children around. We would run around barefooted, play games in the middle of the streets.

“I went to school pretty late. I can recall walking to a church school near where we lived. It wasn't a bad life as a child. It was fun to play in the puddles when it rained or to play silly games with the other kids. We spent most of our time outdoors; there was no space in the houses anyway. They were tiny and hot. Houses were for sleeping. And then sometimes not; at one point I even slept outside when my mother had over her customers. She, er...she was a part-time lady of the night, part-time hustler.

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